It’s hard not to want this man by my side. Going to bed with him, waking up enveloped by his strong arms and the warmth of his body. But the difference between the last three mornings and today is the cold breeze slipping through his bedside.

Hmm, do we have bedsides now?

It hasn’t been long, but my body is used to his. I love falling asleep to the sound of his heartbeat. We synced so perfectly in such a short time.

How is that possible?

Maybe Mom is right, “When you find the right person you just know. You mold into each other and almost instantly become one person.”

Is that what happened between us?

I stretch my arm, searching for his warm body, but the only thing I can find is an empty bed. Lazily, I turn around and find his side empty.

When did he wake up?

I smile, wondering what he’s up to. He promised an unforgettable birthday.

“The best one yet,” he said. “All the next birthdays will be measured against your twenty-ninth birthday. If you ever date another guy, you’ll be missing me.”

He’s so arrogant, but I’m sure that’s going to be the case. Not that I’m planning on dating a new guy. If possible, we’ll make this work for us. I push over the blankets and head to the bathroom.

After a shower, I put on my red bikini—his favorite—and the white cover-up dress. There’s a knock on the door, and I play with the idea of opening the door naked. He’d love it. So, I take off the tunic and the top before I open the door.

“I’m ready for my surprise, Mr. Archer,” I say, swinging the door open.

“Mom, look at her boobies!” A family is walking by my room and a little boy points at me.

The guy behind the door isn’t tall, dark, and delicious. He’s a hotel employee pushing the cart with room service. I slam the door closed.

“Room service for Mr. and Mrs. Archer,” the guy knocks the door again.

Yeah, why didn’t you say that before I…Oh my God, this is so embarrassing. I get dressed and open the door again. The server comes inside, and I peek outside the door, searching for Miller, but he’s not there.

He sets the bill on top of the dresser. Neither one of us want to see each other. I think he’s just as embarrassed as I am. I sign the check while the waiter sets the breakfast on the little table outside the terrace, next to the swimming pool.

When he’s done, he says, “Happy birthday, Mrs. Archer.”

A part of me wants to correct him, but they’ve been calling me that since Sunday and Miller never corrected them. He actually called me, “my beautiful Mrs. Archer.”